


What a Feeling (To Feel Wanted)

by PadawanRyan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Can be read as gen, Christmas Fluff, Crushes, Fluff, Galaxy Garrison, M/M, Pre-Slash, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PadawanRyan/pseuds/PadawanRyan
Summary: It was always the same thing around the holidays. His time at the Garrison made him feel homesick on even the best of days – he wasn’t used to being away from his brothers and sister for such a long time – but he rarely got to spend the holidays at home.----Lance is feeling depressed and homesick around the holidays, until he discovers an anonymous note left in his mailbox.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Kudos: 7





	What a Feeling (To Feel Wanted)

**Author's Note:**

> **Hi Alex,**
> 
> **Happy Holidays! I hope you have a great time over the break (or as great a time as you can). This isn’t much, it’s an obvious oneshot (with sequel potential, I suppose, but I doubt it’ll get that far), but I haven’t written fanfiction in quite a long time now so I hope you like it!**
> 
> **Yours truly,  
>  Your Secret Santa.**
> 
> [](https://imgur.com/MAeEmAI)   
> 

It was always the same thing around the holidays. His time at the Garrison made him feel homesick on even the best of days – he wasn’t used to being away from his brothers and sister for such a long time – but he rarely got to spend the holidays at home. There was always something that kept him from going home for the holidays – and sure, he wasn’t the only one! If he had to stay, often times someone else did as well (there were often many people at the Garrison over the holidays) – and it was really starting to take its toll on him.

Nobody would possibly understand that he was depressed. People experiencing depression always looked sad, didn’t they? They couldn’t keep up with their work, they looked like they never slept or ate, and they became a danger to both their team and themselves. He didn’t fit that description; nobody would possibly accuse Lance McClain of even _looking sad_ , let alone being depressed. Not to mention that it would potentially put an end to his career, since the Garrison certainly didn’t want any liabilities. They already had enough problems in the form of disappearances, the last thing they needed was the depressed pilot to fall asleep midflight.

Because, of course, that’s what he wanted to do; he was a pilot, he wanted to fly. Depression made you a flight risk, plain and simple. So, as far as the world was concerned, Lance was not depressed, and he _certainly_ wasn’t going to disclose that information.

That made the holidays extra difficult, though, because he wanted to be at home with his family. He wanted to eat his grandmother’s cooking. He wanted to read to his siblings. He wanted to make jokes with all the people who would _appreciate_ his jokes, because nobody at the Garrison ever did. Oh, they were friendly with him alright, but he didn’t have any actual _friends_. There were a couple people who he sometimes spent time with outside of the classroom or simulations, but they didn’t talk about their lives. They talked about their education, their careers, their goals, but with limitations. He supposed that staying for the holidays wouldn’t be so difficult if he had people to spend time with, if he wasn’t so lonely all of the time.

He wasn’t exactly sure what to do. Sitting on his bed, looking out the window, it seemed like he had the whole galaxy ahead of him. That’s not how he felt, though; he felt as though there was nothing out there for him, that there was no reason to keep trying. He should just give up while he was able…but he wasn’t quite ready to give up. That was something, right?

Sighing, he decided it wouldn’t do to just sit around and _think_ all night; thinking is what often got him into trouble. He was quite analytical when he wanted to be, but sometimes his brain had the tendency to overthink and things just… _exploded_ , for lack of a better word.

Lance grabbed his bag from the floor – it was always tossed into the corner beside his bed the moment he stepped in the room – and reached for the door. He’d find something to do, and maybe he’d have a chance to ignore his thoughts of loneliness and homesickness.

 _“Fat chance,”_ he thought to himself.

The halls were lighted but empty, bright but quiet. It seemed that this time there were fewer people staying for the holidays, unless they were all friends and all having fun together, without him. That bothered him more than he would ever admit to anyone; he wanted friends, he wanted to have a close, meaningful relationship with people. Sure, he could be a little flirtatious, regardless of the gender of the individual – that was just who he was – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t looking for friendship, for a platonic relationship. Hell, he would be willing to just do _pen pals_ if it meant he had someone to spill his secrets to at the end of the day.

Maybe he would check the mail room. Most communication these days was digital, but some people still sent traditional mail. It was more often more for the aesthetic than convenience – after all, what was so convenient about finding a piece of paper and a pen, and actually having to find an address to send it? – but Lance actually liked the aesthetic of traditional mail. There was something different about holding a piece of paper in his hands physically that someone took the time to write…it makes a person feel special.

The mail room was not actually far from his room – each dorm had its own mail room, so that there need not be dozens upon dozens of mailboxes in one room for one postal worker to sort through – but the walk felt long and arduous. It was as though the silence made the hallways longer, but that was impossible; perception was a fickle thing sometimes.

Upon reaching the mail room, just down the hall and down the stairs from his room, Lance paused at the door, his hand only centimetres away from pushing it open. It sounded like someone else was already there.

He wasn’t expecting that. Perhaps he should turn away. _“But really,”_ he attempted to reason with himself, _“it’s just the mail room. It’s probably the postal worker.”_

Slowly pushing the door open, Lance took a cautious step forward before freezing momentarily and exclaiming, “You!”

Inside the mailroom was none other than his rival. Keith Kogane was another student at the Garrison, and an excellent pilot. Often times he and Lance were pitted against each other, which came to be first nature to them since the two both had very dominant personalities. For a time, Lance had actually idolized Keith; he would be lying if he claimed that he didn’t still idolize Keith, but he couldn’t possibly let the other boy know that. It would go straight to his head, and he would probably tease Lance about it for the rest of his career.

“Calm down,” Keith responded with an almost irritated inflection to his voice, “I’m leaving.”

For a moment, Lance felt bad. He was _alone_ and _depressed_ and he knew damn well how it felt to constantly be at odds with the world; who says Keith wasn’t feeling the same way? He tried to squash the thought as soon as it came to him, though, because _of course_ Keith wasn’t depressed. Despite the fact that he came across as a troublemaker – his disciplinary record was longer than one’s usually was, making everyone wonder what he had done to remain at the Garrison – everyone liked Keith. He was like that mysterious badass on television, the one that was super popular with everyone except authority figures.

Lance attempted to regain his composure. “Yes, well…” he faltered, unsure of what to say.

“Mhmm.”

Keith didn’t even appear to be doing anything, as far as Lance was concerned. What was he actually doing here? He didn’t have a letter in his hand, whether it was one sent or received. The postal worker was missing from the desk, but that wasn’t unusual; despite the fact that people did not often use traditional mail anymore, clearly enough people did to warrant a mail room in multiple sections of the compound, so they were probably sorting through the mail in the backroom. It was the holiday season, after all, so people were likely sending and receiving physical gifts that could not be transported digitally.

Lance often told his family not to bother sending him anything. It wasn’t that he didn’t want anything, and his family certainly felt bad for not sending anything despite his wishes, but he felt that it may make him more homesick. If he could stop thinking about them as often, maybe he would start to enjoy himself better. That meant that he needed to have fewer personal items around his room, fewer things to remind him of the people he left behind.

Keith began to move toward the door, prompting Lance to step inside and out of the way. Just as Keith passed by him, Lance, without even thinking about it, blurted out, “Happy holidays!”

That caused the other boy to stop for a moment. He turned to Lance and his facial expression looked as though he was attempting to decipher him, figure him out like a puzzle. It made Lance nervous, but he was too nervous to even swallow or take a breath. The next thing out of Keith’s mouth was certainly going to be a jibe at him, it almost always was; the two had never so much as had a pleasant conversation, let alone a civil one. However, upon finding nothing suspicious – Lance would assume, anyway – on Lance’s face, Keith’s expression relaxed, and he nodded.

“You too,” he muttered, finally taking that step ahead and leaving Lance alone in the now-silent mail room.

 _“That was odd,”_ Lance thought. There was no other way to characterize that interaction: odd.

Finally taking a breath, he moved forward – his hand still on the strap of his bag – and searched for his mailbox among the grouping on the wall. Each mailbox had a slit in the front, allowing anyone at the Garrison to deliver mail to one another without having to go through the postal worker, but one needed to have the appropriate swipe card to actually open the mailbox and retrieve what was inside. After a moment’s glance, Lance pulled his swipe card from his pocket – it was the same card that he used to enter his room – and opened up his mailbox.

There was a single envelope inside.

That couldn’t be right, could it? He had come to the mail room, but he hadn’t actually expected to find anything there for him; he had hoped, sure, but he certainly had no expectations that anyone would send him any mail. Nearly on autopilot without realizing quite what was happening, he reached forward to grab the envelope. It was a thin envelope, it didn’t feel like there was very much inside, but it wasn’t completely sealed. He was almost shaking as he lifted the envelope open and slid the letter out. He could tell quite clearly that it was a letter, the ink was almost visible through the paper.

Closing his eyes for a moment, bracing himself for what he found next – because surely it could not be more than a joke – Lance opened them and flipped the folded letter open, quick as though he was ripping off a bandage. It was short, but his eyes widened when he saw what was written before him.

_Hi Lance,_

_Don’t give up, alright? You’re one of the best people on this compound. You’re compassionate and funny, and I only wish I could be like you. You’re dedicated, and you will make a fine officer someday._

_Explore the galaxy, but first, make sure to remind yourself that **you are worth it.**_

_Love,_

_Your Secret Santa_

It had to be a joke…but somehow, he felt like it wasn’t. Tears welled up in his eyes as he read the short letter over and over and over again. Someone seemed to understand exactly what went through his head, and they thought that he was _one of the best people on the compound?_ That didn’t seem right…but it was right there, immortalized in ink on paper. It clearly had to be sent from someone at the Garrison, because the envelope hadn’t been sealed properly nor was there any name or return address on it. Someone had clearly slipped it into his mailbox slit.

 _“Could it have been…?”_ But no, it couldn’t possibly have been. That was an absurd thought.

That would be impossible.

Sniffling – it hadn’t been possible to prevent the tears either, as soon as they had become hot at the corners of his eyes, he had left them spill freely – he folded the letter and placed in back in the envelope. He slipped it into his pocket and decided that perhaps he would go somewhere else. Maybe there would be some sort of party happening for those who were stuck at the Garrison over the holiday. Maybe he would run into someone who wanted to spend time with him. Maybe he would head back to his room and be alone. Regardless of where he ended up, he knew one thing was certain: he wasn’t quite as homesick anymore.

Oh sure, it would come back soon enough, perhaps even by the end of the night if he wasn’t careful, and most certainly by the next morning. An encouraging note couldn’t possibly cure his loneliness. The fact of the matter was, though, that he felt better temporarily. That was something, right?

Pushing open the door, he stepped back into the empty hallway, and turned back to the stairwell that would lead back up to his floor. He would stop into his room first and deposit the letter so that he wouldn’t lose it, and then maybe head outside; sometimes some of the guys were running experiments, looking at the stars or something of the like, and perhaps they wouldn’t object to his company. The last thing he wanted was to lose this precious item – this _gift_ – or, worse, allow someone else to find it and tease him about it, so he would make sure to stick it in a drawer where it couldn’t possibly be brushed aside or accidentally picked up (assuming he’d ever have people in his room).

Stepping out at the top of the stairwell, he noticed that there was someone else there. Looking out the window at the top of the stairs was none other than the boy he had seen only several minutes ago. Keith could hear him, Lance could tell by the way his posture changed slightly as Lance stopped behind him, the way Keith’s head seemed more at attention as though he was waiting to hear what Lance had to say, but the other boy still did not turn around. There was no point in saying anything right now; the last thing Lance wanted to do was ruin his evening by getting into an argument with his rival. Instead, he took a breath and shoved his hands in his pockets – causing the crinkling of paper to be heard as his hand collided with the envelope – and stalked out into the hall.

Unbeknownst to Lance, there was a smile on Keith’s face. His note had been received.


End file.
